


Brawler

by thenakednymph



Series: Brawler [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: I wrote this in a couple of hours and barely edited or revised it, I’m sorry, Lance may not excel at hand to hand, Lance spits a lot, M/M, This is a little gory guys, and you learn to fight dirty, but you can’t tell me he doesn’t know how to fight, cursing in English and Spanish, like no, rated for language, sorry - Freeform, sweetie I’ve got three siblings and trust me, you learn fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 13:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17224718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/thenakednymph
Summary: I have no summary for this beyond Lance and Keith get ambushed and Lance is a determined motherfucker who fights dirty. Keith is mildly turned on and largely impressed.





	Brawler

**Author's Note:**

> When does this take place? Who attacks them? Where are they? Why are they there? Who knows. Just roll with it. 
> 
> Like everything else I write, I have no idea what this is. But you can’t tell me Lance isn’t a scrapper.
> 
> Edit: Oh hey, now with better editing
> 
> Edit: So apparel there’s a part two-ish now?

Lance pants into the dust, spitting blood. He can barely see through the sweat in his eyes and the swelling from that last hit. His cheekbone is hot with pain and he works his jaw carefully. Nothing seems broken. His ribs throb from where the alien had kicked him when he’d fallen after taking a blow to the head. His ears are still ringing.

One of the aliens grabs him, yanking him to his feet before he can stand and wrestling his arms behind his back, Lance’s ribs protesting loudly.

He blinks away the haze in his eyes and spits again, tonguing at his teeth, hoping he hasn’t knocked any loose. The last time that had happened they’d been baby teeth. Marco had apologized profusely but it had still hurt like hell.

“You know,” Lance pants from where he’s being restrained, blinking blood out of his eyes. More is dripping from his freshly split lip.

“You’re gonna have to knock me out because I’m not gonna stop.” His voice is bright and playful, conversational even, and the small hunting party that ambushed them is unphased.

“I’m just gonna keep getting loose until you let us go or beat me senseless.”

Keith thrashes in the hold the alien has on him, one knee in his back, pinning him to the ground. They have a fistful of his dark hair, wrenching his head back painfully and he winces.

Lance opens his mouth but another alien drives their fist into his stomach and he folds in half, gagging and gasping, trying not to throw up. He coughs a few times, finally managing to stand again after a few minutes.

“Lance-” Keith winces at the effort it to takes to speak with his head twisted so far back. Lance doesn’t so much as look at him.

“I’ll freely admit,” he gasps still bent over trying to catch his breath, “I don’t know a damn thing about structured combat,” he says, voice lilting though he’s panting shallowly. He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, finally looking up.

“Never stuck.” He sags loosely in the grip of the alien holding him. They’ve apparently decided he’s not much of a threat.

Their mistake.

“But I do have four siblings,” Lance prattles on, not sure they’re even listening or that they understand. He grins and straightens, getting his weight back under his feet. There’s blood on his teeth.

“And if there’s one thing I learned growing up with four siblings,” Lance drawls conversationally, a spark igniting in his eyes. “It’s how to fight dirty.”

He slams the heel of his boot down on the toes of the alien holding him and they shriek in pain. Their grip on him doesn’t loosen fast enough to keep Lance from driving his head backwards into their face, smashing and cutting their lips against their own teeth.

They let him go entirely and Lance drives his elbow back into their gut, fighting for space. He grabs a fistful of dirt and runs for the alien holding Keith, baseball sliding under the reach of another as they make a grab for him.

He slams into the alien wrenching Keith’s head back with a snarl, one arm looped around their throat, grinding dirt into their eyes with the other hand as he wraps around them. They shriek, releasing Keith to make a grab for Lance’s head, their fingers struggling for purchase in his short hair.

“Pick on somebody your own size,” he snarls, driving his fingers into their multiple eye sockets.

Lance sinks his teeth into their cheek; the skin is thick and doesn’t give as easily as he’d hoped but eventually he feels that telltale pop and tastes blood. He yanks a mouthful of muscle and skin free, blood spurting from the wound in thick waves as they shriek.

He bodily drags the creature off Keith, wrestling them to the ground in a tangle of limbs, spitting out the mouthful of flesh.

Lance ignores the shouts all around them as Keith breaks loose, snatching a knife from one of the hunters and cutting through them like a dancer, all lethal grace.

The party had gotten the drop on them, using surprise to their advantage. With that advantage gone they don’t stand a chance.

Lance focuses on the alien in his arms with single-minded determination, his teeth finding their ear next, furious that anyone would lay their hands on Keith like that.

He wraps his legs around their torso, pinning them at the same time as he puts them in a chokehold, ignoring the nails cutting across his scalp and face, trying to tear him free. He twists his head out of their grasp, releasing their ear as he does so, squeezing the alien’s throat.

“Fuck you,” he spits, thick blood between his teeth. The body spasms but finally goes limp a moment later and Lance kicks it off him, rolling the alien to the side. He looks up just as Keith downs the last one making a run for Lance, a spear in hand ready to kill him. Instead Lance watches as their eyes go dead and they stumble to the ground. The body falls right beside Lance in a tangled heap, Keith’s sword in their back and the jungle goes quiet.

Lance turns to the side and spits the acrid black blood from his mouth, wiping a hand across his split lips, smearing the mess.

“ _Hijo de puta,_ ” he spits, wiping his mouth again, gagging at the taste. “Fuck that’s disgusting.”

Keith slowly approaches him. “Are you alright?” He kneels down next to Lance, poking at his bruised face under all the blood.

“‘m fine,” Lance slurs past the split lip and grins. “Veronica’s given me worse.”

Keith frowns but sits back on his heels and stares. He's never seen Lance like this, wild and bloody and a little feral. It’s strangely attractive in a way it probably shouldn’t be and Keith doesn’t have time to analyze.

He swipes the mix of black and red blood from Lance’s face with a handful of yellow grass the same shade as the skin of the aliens, still probing tentatively for more serious damage. It’s hard to tell under all the swelling.

“Where the hell did that come from?” he asks.

Lance snatches a pouch from one of the aliens and uncorks it, sniffing suspiciously. Smells like water. He uses it to rinse his mouth out, swishing it through his teeth and spitting into the dirt.

“God I hope that shit isn’t toxic,” he complains, swiping bloodied hair back off his forehead.

“I didn’t know you could fight light that.”

Lance scoffs. “That wasn’t fighting Keith. What you do is fighting. _That_ was brawling.” He laughs, eyes bright with adrenaline.

“I’m not much good at the first one but when it comes to playing dirty? That I can do.” He rinses his mouth again, probing at the inside of his cheek where he’d cut it open on his teeth.

“Damn those bastards hit hard.” He cups his jaw with a hand, working it carefully. There’s a dull pop but nothing else and the pain doesn’t get any worse.

His eye on the other hand is a lost cause. It’s all but swollen shut and without a healing pod half his face will be purple soon.

“How come you never whipped any of that out in the training room?” Keith asks, arms resting across his knees.

Lance frowns. “Because it has no purpose there.” He blinks like it’s obvious. “That’s not what Shiro and Allura are trying to teach us. This is brutal and messy and meant to cripple your opponent, not disarm them, not to use as little energy as possible. It's not efficient. It’s little more than a bar brawl.” He laughs, pouring some of the water into his gloved hand and carefully trying to rinse his face.

“Well maybe if you fought like that in hand to hand you’d actually win a round or two against me,” Keith says, something like amusement flickering in his eyes.

Lance pouts. “And ruin that pretty face?” He clucks his tongue, admonishing. “Never.” His eyes meet Keith’s over the edge of the bottle and holds them. Keith flushes and looks away.

“Yeah well you’re a right mess,” he mutters.

Lance isn’t surprised. He feels it. Keith on the other hand looks a bit rumpled and covered in the dried red dirt but no worse for the wear. It’s hardly fair.

Still, Lance had managed to get them loose. It had to count for something right?

“So much for a peaceful weekend getaway.” His face falls and he passes the water to Keith who takes a cautious sip. “Do you think the others are okay?”

Keith glances around the jungle, corking the water and stands. “Only one way to find out.

“Come on, we should get Coran to take a look at you. How are your ribs? You took a hell of a hit back there.”

Lance grabs Keith by the wrist and lets him pull him to his feet with a wince.

“Bruised but not broken.” He grins, all lopsided and adorable. “Don’t dish it if you can’t take it.”

Keith snorts, looking pointedly at the unconscious alien at Lance’s feet and the bloody hole where his cheek used to be.

“Noted.”

If Lance didn’t know any better he’d say Keith almost sounded proud.


End file.
